


Of War and Want

by azcendio



Category: Of War and Want, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, PWP, anyway here's 10 pages of angst and smut, balance, but angst got in the way, for reyloweek, powerful pain, powerful porn, was supposed to be purely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 01:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14438535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azcendio/pseuds/azcendio
Summary: There had been a fight in this cantina, and outside its doors, and beyond the street intersection those doors hang open to- slack in death.  Rey knows, without having to look past the dancer- to the (armed, unarmed, masked, or fear revealed) severed and shot bodies trailing towards the exit, or even to the smearing of blood just beneath the dancer’s gaze.  Rey knows, just from the warmth touching her cheeks, leaving them wet, slowly drying into an iron, red paste: there was a fight.  A battle.  A battle she fought in.  (Still fighting?)Rey sits for a time immeasurable in standard hours, wondering who won.When a shift in the air hardens the blood on her face and hands, and a silent, electric connection interferes and makes the dancer shudder and vanish, Rey knows she is not the victor.  She never was, never is, with him.  Even when her mind tells her otherwise, as it does now.  As she feels Kylo Ren entering the cantina, as quietly, as profoundly, as when he enters her thoughts.





	Of War and Want

**Author's Note:**

> oh look, another PWP, but this time it stands for pain with porn. This is following the reyloweek event on tumblr, with the prompt of dark (possessiveness and war) as well as touch.

Scarcely clothed and eyes closed, a Togruta dancer shimmers in front of her- feminine hips swaying to a song that had long died, and swaying still in the same slow fashion even as the image glitches, spasms, disjoints the woman’s hips for a sickening moment.  Then, desensitized to the horror, the hologram blinks, eyes open. The hips rejoin. The eyes close, and the cycle resumes. But still, no music plays, and the dancing has no place in the rhythm of Rey’s heartbeat pounding vulgar and violent in her ears. And it no longer has a place in the emptied cantina.  Emptied, save for Rey, who lies in it as though it is a casket- a bloodied one at that.

There had been a fight in this cantina, and outside its doors, and beyond the street intersection those doors hang open to- slack in death.  Rey knows, without having to look past the dancer- to the (armed, unarmed, masked, or fear revealed) severed and shot bodies trailing towards the exit, or even to the smearing of blood just beneath the dancer’s gaze.  Rey knows, just from the warmth touching her cheeks, leaving them wet, slowly drying into an iron, red paste: there was a fight. A battle. A battle she fought in. (Still fighting?)

Rey sits for a time immeasurable in standard hours, wondering who won.  

When a shift in the air hardens the blood on her face and hands, and a silent, electric connection interferes and makes the dancer shudder and vanish, Rey knows she is not the victor.  She never was, never is, with him. Even when her mind tells her otherwise, as it does now. As she feels Kylo Ren entering the cantina, as quietly, as profoundly, as when he enters her thoughts.

Rey thinks, for a pleading instant, that’s what this is- a thought, permeating from mind and wound and saturating skin and surrounding.  Another, ill-timed and ill-fated force(d) meeting of souls.

But then that overwhelming presence of black form and brooding thought swells at the door, and steps into reality.  

It isn’t the Supreme Leader who walks to where she lies slumped in a darkened corner by the bar.  That man is left on the threshold, ordered to wait. Ben is her companion, sitting down beside her, silent and studying the waves that ripple off her.   They both are still in the wake of something shared and cruel. Something that is still very much alive in her, no matter the corpses at her feet. Perhaps, more so because of those corpses.

Rey’s pulse is a scream in her skull.

It riles up, hot and loud with muscle memories- of her lightsaber’s rumble, of her snarls and barred teeth, of the curl in her lips (an almost smile) when her aim struck true again and again.  Twisted within these vile feelings are others still, deeply rooted ones that Rey thought dry and dead. Now, they are nourished and watered by the blood sinking into her pores. She stares at her hands, observing the phenomenon, and not quite sure whose blood it is that feeds her.  Is it ally or enemy? Is it hers? Does it even matter?

All the while, Ben waits, watches Rey as she reflects on yet another deadly encounter since their separation on the Supremacy.  As she watches her skin change right before her eyes, again. It quivers with adrenaline and shimmers with sweat, nearly like the dancing hologram had- except, none of this is a glitch.  And even if it were, it can’t be fixed. And even if it could be, part of Rey doesn’t want to fix it.

“Is this how you want me?”  

The question seeps out of her, through mind, cuts, and rage.  Ben’s eyes are still latched onto her, and take in the sight of who she is: a killer, covered in the filth of warfare, another’s blood her warpaint and her wounds (flesh and otherwise) her only trophies for show.  When he’d asked, months ago, for her to join him she had looked much the same- yet she is so different now. At least, she feels it- dark vines curling around her insides and squeezing them into new dimensions. Perhaps, she’s always been this way and only he could see it, feel it, then and now.  Is this how he saw her then, and wants her now?

His shoulder brushes against hers, cloth rough and heavy against her skin- agitating.  He turns to say something and, without having to look, she can feel his lips parting around a plea, can see the gentle tremble in them as he frames her name, “Rey-”

The dried blood on her knuckles and fingers splits under the wrath of a fist, slammed and slamming again into Ben’s chest.  Again. And again. Her pulse screams louder, shapes hellish mantras in her mind for her fists to pound in rhythm to- still fighting, fighting the one person still alive here.  Beside herself. And Ben lets her, lets the fury and fear slam into him as it has so many times before, of his own accord. It is a familiar battering, and Rey can feel him wrapping his arms around her even before he dares to touch her.  He prefers to take the brunt of her rage, rather than have her turn it inward again. And again.

He holds her, not daring to say the words that had sent her a galaxy away from him before; though, it lingers like traces of poison on his lips: _join me, please._ This time, he begs for her own wellbeing, as much as he does for his own selfishness.  

 _Is this how you want me?_ Struggling in the dark to hold onto light, even though her vision has adjusted to the spreading shadows.  

Where Rey is, arms and face pressed into Ben’s cowl, she can see him clearly through the darkness.  As well as herself. She hates what she sees. Yet, wants what she feels- Ben’s breath rising and falling deep and steady beneath her clawed fingers, his lips a subtle presence soft and brushing against her hair and ear, and his hands curled tight around her shoulder and waist.  

Rey hates him, for finding her and keeping her here, in the rubble- _his_ rubble.  With no one to see how their ruthless leader treats the enemy when arms are lowered.  It is not the first time he has found her, lost in the chaos and trying to repair herself in silence.  It is not the first time he has been greedy, stealing touches he pretends she cannot feel still kissed into her flesh when he leaves.  And it is not the first time they have both prayed for an end.

Rey’s fingers pierce past cloth to skin, and Ben’s lips are not as subtle as before.  They land, pressing and molding themselves into the space above her right eye, where the screaming is most belligerent.  It has calmed her before, sealing the darkness within the realm of his kiss where it remains until they see each other again on the battlefield.  But this darkness isn’t his to contain any longer.

Her tongue tastes blood.

Ben shifts again, his kiss skimming down the side of her face, over blood and dirt that is hers and strangers'.  He is intent to have her lips, to pull the scream from them once and for all-

Rey’s hands seize Ben, the will of her grasp shaking and tossing the stool behind him.  As she slams him into the ground.

There is no shock in his eyes, though his pupils are shot wide to revere in the image of her arched above him, her merciless expression a sight so rarely seen after the dust settles.  (The dust hasn’t settled for her.)

“What do you want?” She hisses, more danger in her voice than in any ultimatum he could’ve given her in response.  

Concern, anxious and desperate and all Ben Solo’s, floods the space between them and rapidly washes over her in the Force.  Yet, his breath is calculated, deep and slow, emanating a calm neither of them have. He is a body of lies lying beneath her.  Rey straddles him, pinning him down, snarling at his falsehood, and demands again to know: “What do you want, Kylo?”

There is a fault in his facade: a slight quiver at the corner of his left eye.  

“I wanted to see that you were alright, and to ensure that you leave safely,” is his answer, even and gentle and undermined by a simple tremor of his bottom lip.

Rey’s snarl remains, but so does the want- to keep him close, even when they do their damndest to pull each other apart.  She knows she is not alone in this feeling, has never been alone when it comes to him. However, they stalk around the truth of the feeling.  Eyes locked onto it, hungering for it, but never voicing their hunger- afraid doing so would cause the truth to flee. She’s tired of this dance, of how she changes more and more with each move.

So, Rey descends upon her prey.  With hands braced against rubble and floor, she leans into Ben, and into the feral nature of her anger when she whispers: “no, you don’t.”

The proximity of their lips to one other draws her eyes away from his, back to the telling tremble there and the starting stumble of his breath.  In this way, Rey knows Ben longs to admit the truth, that vulnerable spirit of his yearning and giving into her touch freely. Confessing. As it always does when they slip out of their roles and clothes, and speak from skin to skin.  But the silent agreement they’ve signed in touch is not enough this time. She demands words along with action. She’s waited in silence long enough.

“You’ve never lied to me before,” Rey breathes, and is attentive to the way his skin deepens with color when she speaks, and to the way his tense jaw slackens, lips parting.  Her eyes cut back to his, catches him watching and following her every move. Encouraged, and determined, Rey brings a hand to his face, misleadingly soft as she caresses the proud rise of cheekbone.  Her snarl smoothed into a stiff smile.

“Don’t lie to me now.  Just say it.”

Despite the willingness of his body, Ben’s resolve does not shape itself so readily to her touch. “I’m not going to, when I know the answer isn’t in my favor.” His gaze hardens.  “Or yours.”

That rage she has screaming in her bloodstream curdles cells, curves that soft, caressing hand into a claw at his jaw.  And it simmers, coming out as steam when she speaks low and heated. “Why are you always so fucking cocky?”

As Rey says this, riled by frustration, her body stirs and she feels him in a new, familiar way.  Pressed firm, hard between her legs. Another tell. And with eyes relentlessly locked onto his, Rey can see yet another in the darkening of his vision, the shudder of his pupils.  His hands lie limp, almost afraid, at either side of her.  A slight twitch in his fingers indicates the desire to touch her, to take her. As he has before. But though she’s lost yet another fight, he is hers to take at this moment.  She keeps him, pinned to the ground with thighs and hips, and an overwhelming surge of power undulates up her spine. Arousing an attack.

Rey leans in closer, presses her chest to his, her lips to the cheek she’d so kindly touched before.  

“How do you know I won’t say yes this time?” she taunts, letting the thought sink into his pores with the smallest hint of a hope and a kiss.  That small tremble she’d seen before… she can feel it now, spreading across his skin, suggesting deep quakes beneath the surface. Her lips curl into that smile she only ever gives into during the most provocative of kills.  “Isn’t that what you hope for, each time you find me?” Rey continues, peeling away at him. Her hands move, stroking over layers of cloth. Unsoiled. Her eyes narrow, and she turns her head to meet his gaze- not quite so unsoiled.  They reflect his deeds, along with hers. Sullied and savage.

Rey’s fingers hook around the width of his strap, knuckles grinding into his waist.  Her hips match the movement and, unreservedly, his body responds despite his vow of silence.  For a moment, Ben’s eyes flinch closed. The length of his sex swells and rises to meet her. Impatient.  Honest.

Languidly and lightly, she places a kiss on Ben’s nose.  And it is contrary to the rest of her body. She presses herself down, harsh, on his pelvis.  Punishing him.

“Isn’t that why you wait, letting me sit in the blood and the memory of what I’ve done?” Rey seethes, as Ben flinches again, gritting his teeth and breathing hard beneath the weight of her judgment.  Her body is small and fragile compared to his, yet it is brick and mortar imprisoning him. So easily he could grab her, fling her aside or submit her to his desires, and yet he remains under her. Waiting.  Of course.

“You wait so patiently,” she nearly croons the observation, and her hands slowly pull at his belt, undo his top.  Her body slides, rubbing him, her lips slipping down his face to his jaw. It is tense, muscles throbbing around her bite and spiteful kiss.  Always, as she moves, her eyes hold his captive. Or is it the other way around? Each time they meet, she is less and less sure. It infuriates her.

Belt dropped, top slit down the middle, Rey sinks her nails into skin, digging into Ben’s hips.  It is the only place unshielded by muscle. He lets out a hiss at the same time she does, his agony bending like smoke around her flames.

She burns on, raking her hands up his chest, leaving behind a red trail of fire, until they are searing tendrils wrapped around his throat.  His pulse is rapid and begging against her palms. Yet still- “you wait. And you watch me dangle on that thin line between hero and villain, savior and murderer, light and dark, and you hope-” Her breath is hot at his mouth now, filling him with her, leaving no room for himself to breathe.  Her grip at his throat tightens, and his mouth falls further open, eyelids heavy but gaze still following hers. Incapable of letting go.

Even as Rey restricts Ben’s airways, it’s she who is suffocating.

“You hope each life I take brings me closer to you.  You do, don’t you?”

His tongue moves, lips shaping her name again, shaping an excuse, but her hands constrict against the lie.  Ben’s eyes leave hers, look away and close. It is enough to have her relishing, her thumb stroking beneath his chin, her mouth sighing into his: “ _ah_ , you do.”  The words come thick and rich.  Her lips drag against his with each syllable.

Rey feels a moan, low and suppressed deep in Ben’s throat, and the subtle roll of his hips.

“Rey,” he sighs, her name a prayer.  Ben’s energy pulsates with need and hope and torment.  Primal need for her. Wretched hope for her to concede and say yes to him.  Conscious torment over what it would mean for her to do such a thing. Yet he can’t subdue the desire that pulls his hands towards her legs, wraps them around the back of her thighs.

“What do you want, Ben?”  She asks again, even as his grip tenses, fingers bruising flesh.  Even as he tries to lift his head to kiss her. Rey pushes him down by the neck.  His head drops back to the ground with a resigned thud, pain and longing wounding his expression.  Eyes, still closed. Hiding the truth of his wound.

“You know what I want.”

Of course she does.  His body confesses wantonly: chest flushed and heaving- calculated breaths forgotten- and cock straining against leather, trying to get what he wants before the moment ends and their life cycle resumes.

One of her hands relinquishes its hold of his throat and skims back down, down, to the rim of his pants.  Passes it until her palm is flat against that want he refuses to vocalize. It is thick and heavy in her hold, twitches when she applies the barest of pressures.

His eyes open at the assault, and Rey can see the words glaring right at her, practically roaring.

“Say it,” Rey demands, squeezing him with both hands.  Ben’s mouth closes, and he swallows. The ridges of his throat stroke her palm, just as he shifts beneath her and tentatively thrusts into her fist.

There is a whimper, barely contained above his collarbone.  She kisses it free, lips massaging his until they relax, ease open, and the sound of him succumbing to her fills her mouth along with his tongue.  The hand at his throat slithers up, into his hair, tugging the soft curls until his hands are hard at her waist, nails scratching above her trousers, trying to tear them loose.  Rey strokes his erection once, twice, and then her hand is searching for the restraints, finds them- pauses. She pulls out of the kiss, her tongue trailing slow on the underside of his before letting him go, sitting up and ordering him to: “say it.”

“I want you.”

It’s a sigh, heavy with intent and intensity.  It is palpable, pressing into her skin. Though his hands are steel shaped around her hips, unmoving, it’s as though he’s touching her everywhere.  Possessing every freckled, bloodied, wounded part of her. Claiming it as his, in all its imperfection.

She does well not to look up, around her, at everything else he has claimed.

That strange power from before hums through her again, turns into a throbbing low in her belly, curls her fingers beneath the fabric of his pants.  It begins to loosen, unraveling along with her. Immediately, Ben’s cock comes out. It curves towards her, veins protruding and pulsing, already pre-cum dripping down the length.  She traces its path with the tips of her nails. His hands constrict at her waist, and there is a stifled whine of need. Rey wraps her hand around the thick width of it and strokes, her gaze searching his out and finding him watching her, again.  

His expression is desperate and reverent.  His eyes, though, reflect the same maddened frenzy she cannot herself contain.  Her hand stops, grips him hard.

“How do you want me?”

Ben blinks, eyes wet, body and spirit aching.  She can feel it, like bones cracking and skin splitting, through their strained, overwhelming connection.  Both of them terrified that it might snap at any time, or consume them completely. As though it hasn’t already.  Ben knows it has, and the realization of it leaves him breathless and weak. His hands slide down from her hips to her thighs, laying there submissively.

“Anyway I can have you,” he confesses.  

And that is the terrifying truth.

Rey accepts it by crushing Ben with her body.  Still fully clothed, she covers him and kisses him deeply and roughly, and he responds eagerly enough to it and her resumed menstrations.  His hands squeeze and stroke at her thighs as her hand rubs and twists his girth, crudely and at times quite violently. Pulling moans and throaty cries out of him, which she consumes with tongue and teeth.  

Abruptly, Rey tears herself away to tug her clothes free, giving Ben a moment to breathe and admire her rightly.  He moves his hands from her legs as she peels off her pants, finally lets himself rise so his hands can roam and caress her- stroking her arms, cupping her breasts, reaching for her neck to pull her closer-

She seizes his hands and yanks them back, and he is pinned to the ground again.

This time, Rey is as bare as he, her skin sun-kissed and burning where it touches him; nipples hardening where they brush against his chest, thighs pressed down onto his stomach, knees clenched around him, the heat of her cunt lightly rubbing slick against his cock.

Her hands are shackles around his wrists, her eyes barring him down.  If she looks closely enough, she can see her reflection in his hungry gaze- the blood still smeared across her cheek, cuts from glass and explosions littering her body, bruises darkening on her skin.  Shadows and death, just behind her.

“Say it again,” she commands.

“I want you.”  The words fall freely from his lips now, raw as they are.  The honesty of it, the lust of it, pulls her head back and she lowers herself more, applies more pressure as she strokes her sex down the length of his.  The head of him pushes and opens her lips, nudges against her clit. He gives a small jerk, and just that little thrust is enough to have her biting her lip, arching her back.  That power of hers is potent now, twisting a storming inferno inside. Where both of them want him.

The second she lets go of Ben’s wrists, he is touching her again.  His hands are wide and indulgent, folding over her ribs, thumbs large and rough as they drag over her breasts.  Nearly distracting her from her task as she steadies herself above him, puts one hand on his hip to keep him still as she grabs his cock and lifts it, adjusting onto knees until he is ready at her entrance.  Slowly, she lowers herself onto him, her head lulling back with eyes closed. The hands at her ribs are so still and hardened that they seem a part of her, fitting between her bones just as thickly and snugly as his shaft.  It stretches her, pushing against her walls and piercing deep.

Her hands slide up Ben’s chest, clutching to keep her upright when the backs of her upper thighs are flush against his, head falling forward.  Naturally, Ben’s arms wrap around her, try to pull her forward into a kiss and an embrace. Rey grabs at him, pulls his arms down until his hands are firmly placed on her thighs.  She can feel him frowning without having to look.

“Rey-”

But then she moves: a quick, keen thrust forward and back, and whatever words he planned to say turn into a senseless cry.  So she does it again and again, harder, and he claws at her legs, eyes shut in rapture. When she repeats the motion, his hips hastily chase after her, striking into her gruftly- penetrating hard and sudden, and eliciting a shocked cry of her own.  Ben instinctively tries to do it again, but her hands grip his thighs, pushing down and leaning back with her body to gain control again. He gives it up quickly, giving into lewd moans as she lifts herself and drops herself again onto him, quickly leaving him and harshly filling herself back up with him over and over, each time feeling like a brutal attack to her senses.

In control, lost to sensation, Rey allows his hands to wander then, to clutch at her breasts and tug, to run across and down the landscape of her body.  “I want you,” he groans, and slips his fingers under the hood of her cunt. “I need you,” he sighs quiet under her loud moan, when his nails scratch at her clit and his thumb rubs, trying to soothe and stay in a steady rhythm even as her hips ride him raw and frantic.

She allows it, when his arm hooks around her and pulls her down to him.  She allows it, when he cranes his neck up to kiss her, because his hand is still fixed between them, stroking ecstasy through every nerve of her.  Because his mouth is warm and rough against hers, prying it open with a long, thrusting tongue that makes her motions fasten and deepen. She allows it because, between kisses, as his length slides into her and strikes at the eye of her storm, he says things she is ravenous to hear:

“I want you.”

“I want only you.”

“I need you.”

But then she feels it, a throbbing unlike that moving in and out of her.  A truth longing to come, that she is not ready to hear- not as covered in sweat, blood, and darkness as she is.

“I l-”

Her hand clasps down on his mouth, cutting him off before he can say it.  

For once, Rey sees anger in his eyes and it is all his, not hers.  

In retaliation, Ben’s arm coils tight around her, stunting her motions completely.  With the other arm, he raises the two of them up effortlessly, and she is forced to sit on him, clutched still.

Like that, her illusion of control is shattered.

Behind his angered expression, Rey can see the casualties of their affair strewn on the floor.  It should scare her, how this does not cause her to tear away from Ben, to run as far as she can.  

Sensing her discomfort, Ben’s expression softens and he kisses the palm of the hand she still holds over his confession.  He lifts his hand off the floor to pry her fingers away, briskly maneuvers her arm over his shoulder. There is still the heat of anger in him when he kisses her lips, his other arm still possessive and dictative around her- unmindful of the bruises and the cuts of battle that mark her back and ribs.  Or perhaps, completely mindful and utterly punishing. After all, she had demanded the truth of him, and now she denied him the right.

There is the bite of teeth at her lips, tugging them open, and his tongue is brutal in his taking of her mouth.  Yet, his hips are stone, unmoving. His cock is buried inside her, pressing relentlessly against all of her, and shooting an ache through her entire body.  Both of them can feel it in the way her hands clutch at his shoulder, his hair, and in the way she kisses him back.

Ben pulls away from her mouth.  “Now, tell me,” he murmurs his own order, and it vibrates through the kiss he plants wet and insistent at her jugular.  He nips at the skin, his eyes no doubt revelling in the color he paints on her. “Do I have you?”

Though her legs are folded around his waist now, fingers lost in his hair, and his cock throbbing and waiting within her, Rey’s eyes look to the tug-of-war they both belong to.  It is a violent, lethal thing they share, and she can feel herself slipping. This entire act is her, falling over on blood and gore. There is a corpse not ten paces away from where they sit naked and lustful.  It is a stormtrooper she killed. A stormtrooper, like Finn was. And she had momentarily enjoyed the kill. She’d never felt that way before. Or at least, she’d never been conscious of it.

Ben’s hold on her tightens, the arm wrapped around her only just letting a hand slip through and down to press against her clit, already extremely damp and raw from his attentions.  His touch blinds her for a moment, and he is kissing her before her senses can fully return. Tongue stroking hers as his fingers pinch and his hips curve up, sinking his cock even deeper into her.  

“Do I have you?” He asks again, rooting the question at the corner of her lips.  Soft, loving, quiet with hesitance. So in contrast to the demand he makes of her with such a question.

Rey sees clearly.

She grips Ben’s hair and pulls it back to take in the full sight of him.  He watches her, as always, adoring and admiring her in the same way one does a sunrise.  His expression doesn’t change, despite the fact that she is swiftly falling into a sunset.  The way Ben looks at her now is the same way he has looked at her since they first met. She cannot say the same for anyone else, any longer.  Not even herself.

Her reply comes earnest, breathless.

“You have me.”

Like that, the illusion of her control is made real.  And so is his. Rey’s hold on him is just as possessive as Ben’s is as he seems to leap, dropping her to the ground and pressing himself, crushing himself onto her with a force that is both so desired and feared.  Desired, because she can feel his flesh mending hers wherever it kisses hers. Feared, because she shouldn’t need mending. But she does, and he’s more than willing to help.

Only, Rey has no idea who she will be when all is said and done.

The thought plagues her only for a brief second, before Ben is back to the forefront of her thoughts- thoughts that are mostly feeling and wanting.  

He grips her legs and lifts them to hug the sides of his chest before pulling himself out of her to the tip.  Slowly sinking back into her as far as he can, while making the most of this position- arching to mouth her breasts, his teeth skimming and then biting down on the rise of her nipples, pulling them up and pulling from her a long cry of approval.  Before softening the arch of his back, grinding his cock deeper and up into the vulnerable, heavenly fault inside her that makes her vision swim, makes it swim even more when his hand slips back between them, gently nudging and circling around her arousal- tiptoeing around it just as his mouth tiptoes kisses up her collarbone and to her shoulder.  Ben pulls out, and then his spine is smooth under her fingertips, his lips brushing against her eyebrows, her forehead. He presses a kiss there, as he pushes deeper.

In this way, he says, without having to say, what she forbids him from confessing today.  He says it for a time, slow and gratifying, until he is sure she knows. (Of course, she knows.)

And then he says other things, things that have a place here amongst the filth (“I want you here, every way I can have you”, “I need to feel you, as much of you as I can”).  He says such things as he pulls out, flips her onto her stomach, presses her flat against the chaos, hand at her neck, pulling her up. To look only at him. To feel only him.  In spite of the coldness of the ground at her breasts and the sight so easy to see in front of her. She allows it, that power still crooning and swelling inside her as she arches back at the urgency of his hand, tugging to raise her chin.  She allows it, when his mouth kisses hers mid-moan, slipping his tongue down her throat. Because his legs straddle the sides of her thighs, and his dick thrusts down until his hips are smacked and smacking loud and lewd against her ass. The sound of him pumping into her, the sound of her slick with want, opening up to his demands willingly drowns out everything else.  The feel of him, girth thick and rigid, driving into her, at times so forcefully the floor seems to shudder along with her, overrides anything else.

Ben lets go of her throat, lower arms falling to the ground as his thrusts become heady in their fervor.  She tries, to keep her head up so that he may kiss her still, but the kisses become sloppy, pressed and nudging at her cheek, the corner of her eye until he has pushed her head to the side and his mouth falls open and hungry at her neck, her shoulder.  He suckles the skin there, making bruises with memories she will want to remember in the morning. Just as his hips slam, muscle and bone against flesh, to make other bruises and make her sore in a way she’ll want again.

When he centers himself with a heavy breath, pulls out again to the tip and pierces in a rush, fully, she screams and falls forward completely, head dropped to the ground and bottom lip splitting as she bites down against another cry, as he strikes her again.  He lowers himself atop her, too, chasing her skin to kiss- but then simply to rest his lips and grunt as his cock jerks impulsively, and she can tell from it and his sweat licking at her skin, that he is close. That is he is trying to control it, long enough for her to come.  

Rey tries to move an arm, to touch herself so that he can finally let go, but he is the one to seize her this time.  His hand swallows hers easily, yanks it back to where it was by her head, before sending his own hand diving, lifting her hip up from below enough to-

She can’t bite down the scream of his name that comes when he clutches her wildly, wrenching at her- her body trying to writhe from the touch but unable to, pinned down as she is by his weight.  So she cries out again, “Ben,” as he’d pleaded only moments before with her. With another violent pull at her clit, Rey comes severely, soundlessly. Her mouth open in a cry she is too clamped up to voice.  And Ben is suddenly too thick, too much as her walls spasm and close around him, yet he tears into and through her with one final meaningful thrust and a shudder of his own. Heat collides with heat, flooding her and spilling out of her just as wordlessly.  Not as soundlessly. She is still aroused, dripping with her want of him.

He can hear and feel it, too, and gives a few more shallow thrusts, she thinks just to hear how they are together.  But then Ben stills, as much as a shaking man can. Slowly, lifting his weight off enough for her to gasp as she needs to, kissing her shoulders and what parts of her face that aren’t pressed to the ground.  Hand stroking her spine as it quivers.

Ben presses his lips to her earlobe, and it’s a tortured mix of light and dark- soft, clinging with emotion.  “I still want you. I will always want you,” he breathes, that same mix permeating his words. Speaking of that other confession he still wants to give.  She shudders, and clenches around him. Holding onto him, as she knows he holds onto her. With teeth, nails, and everything else. And hopelessly.

Rey swallows the last part down.

“I know,” she says to keep the rest at bay.

They keep each other there, in that emptied cantina, for a time immeasurable in standard hours.  Emptied, save for them, a dancing hologram stuck on loop, and the truth of it all.

 


End file.
